


He Would've Been the Green Light

by magicalxn



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Basically just Nick's sad feelings, Canonical Character Death, Daisy and Jordan and lots of others are mentioned but its mainly Nick/Gatsby, First Kiss, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalxn/pseuds/magicalxn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with Gatsby lying pale and unmoving in the casket, Nick still felt as if he’d tear the moon and the sun and the stars away from their home in the inky black sky and present them to him, if he’d needed him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Would've Been the Green Light

The scent of lilies and roses, though sweet as they may be, could not mask the smell of death, Nick Carraway mused silently to himself.

The grand parlor of Gatsby’s enormous mansion, once so lively and filled to the brim with interesting and exciting people, chattering and laughing and sloshing their drinks onto the marble floors late into the night, had become a cold and empty shell serving as a reminder of the parties that had once taken place. The room was bare, its walls and ceilings once adorned with shimmering gold streamers and brightly colored balloons now gleamed white and seemed colder and more hostile than the first night Nick had shown up to one of Gatsby’s luxurious parties, alone and completely out of his element surrounded by the wealthy and the important.

The only thing in the room, apart from the sparse furniture and intricately woven rug on the floor was the polished casket with the red velvety interior, set to the far side of the room and under the spiral staircase Daisy had so admired when she had first come to Gatsby’s mansion. Surrounding the casket were dozens upon dozens of flowers – lilies and roses and petunias, with their lush green leaves and soft white petals, the same shade of white as the suit that now adorned the body of Jay Gatsby.

Nick was alone in the room, standing as still as he could as so not to make a sound, for the hollow echo of his footsteps on the marble floor only made him feel more and more upset at the fact that the funeral was tomorrow, and there would be no one to attend. Of course, he was not really the only one. There was to be minister, as well as Gatsby’s own father, a man by the name of Henry Gatz. As soon as he’d seen in the papers the news of the death of his son, he had flown out to West Egg to attend. The old man was currently asleep in Gatsby’s study. Nick had found him, clutching the worn book with the schedule Gatsby had written as a child close to his chest, with his head on the desk. He had simply stolen a blanket from a sofa and draped it over his shoulders and let him be.

Then, he resumed the laborious task of trying to contact someone – anyone – to attend Gatsby’s funeral. However, the more people he called, the more it became clear to Nick that despite the hundreds of thousands of guests that had flooded Gatsby’s mansion on those glittering Saturday evenings, the man was truly, and utterly, alone in the world.

He had called Daisy several times. Every time, a different servant of hers would answer and inform him that she and her family had gone away and no one was sure when they were to be back or able to deliver a message to them. At this point, every time it called, they simply let it ring until he finally gave up and set the phone down. He had spent many a night pouring over people to invite to the funeral, but no one was able to come. Not Wolfshiem, who claimed they had been friends, or Klipspringer, who had once lived and shared a part of his life with Gatsby. Not even Daisy, who had once claimed to love Gatsby, and only Gatsby, with every fiber of her being.

Nick knew that Gatsby wouldn’t want to go through this alone. He’d want someone there for him, helping him along the way, just as he had when he and Daisy had made the decision to tell Tom of their love – that one scorching, fateful afternoon that had been the cause of this disastrous chain of events in the first place. He vividly remembered the phone call Gatsby had placed to him, all but begging him and Jordan to come along with. He could still hear his exact words, ringing in his mind. _Daisy needs you._ He had told him. _We need you._

And now, standing alone in the grand hall with the curtains drawn and the room smelling of sweetly of blossoms and death, Nick couldn’t help but wish that Gatsby had instead uttered the phrase he had heard him begin to stutter out, the three words that would have him on his knees and rolling in the dirt if it was what Gatsby had desired, the simple phrase that would’ve seemed trivial to a man like Gatsby, full of hope and wonder and love for the girl he met five years ago, but to Nick, it would’ve been all but the force that held him glued to the very Earth to hear Jay Gatsby utter the words _I need you._

In the back of his mind, Nick still wished he had said this. He knew he had meant it, of course; the _we_ he had implied over the phone included himself but it had also included Daisy. It would’ve meant so much more, coming from him and only him, and just for Nick. To be needed by Gatsby would’ve been a privilege. Even though, he knew, deep down, Gatsby had needed him. As a friend, a confidant, a wingman, a voice of reason to compliment his dreamy tone, but he had never needed him in the way he wanted to be needed; in the way Nick needed Gatsby.

Nick would’ve done anything to hear him say those words. At the drop of a hat, anything it was that Gatsby desired, Nick would’ve done, if only he’d said the words and needed him. He would’ve taken every secret to his grave, would’ve taken the wheel from Daisy’s hands if only to shift the blame away. Hell, he would have even jumped in front of the barrel of the gun that had done him in, if Gatsby needed him to.

He would’ve even been the green light, been Daisy, been all of his hopes and dreams combined and so much more, if he’d needed him to.

Even with Gatsby lying pale and unmoving in the casket, Nick still felt as if he’d tear the moon and the sun and the stars away from their home in the inky black sky and present them to him, if he’d needed him to.

He forced himself to take a few steps closer to the casket, the sharp clack of his heels against the marble floor slicing into the silence and into his very being like a dagger – he was all Gatsby had left now. His long nights of waiting by the phone for a call from someone, anyone, to respond to the invitation to the funeral, waiting until, exhausted and spent, he fell asleep right there on the white spiraling staircase directly above the casket were proof enough. No one cared; not enough to come to the funeral, to send a flower, a note, or even a good word about the man that once lived to please everyone else.

He stopped just before the casket, keeping his eyes trained on the dozens of flowers surrounding the casket rather than the man who lay inside. It was only him left now. He was the only one left that truly, deeply, with all his being, cared for the man that Jay Gatsby had been, and he was all he had left now. In the first few frantic hours after his death, Nick had been racing back and forth across the mansion in a frenzy, muttering to himself and to the body that he would find _someone_ for him, so he wouldn’t have to go through it _alone._

He supposed, that since there was no one else, he would have to be that _someone_. After all, it seemed he was the only one left who cared for him, loved him. Nick loved Gatsby in the way that he should’ve condemned. The way that he should’ve loved Jordan. That Gatsby loved Daisy. Wholly and intensely, selflessly and tragically and beautifully, with every fiber of his being. And since now, Gatsby had no one else left in the world now to look after him and care for him, he supposed it was no longer shameful to admit that.

The longer Nick stared at the flowers, the more he felt the need to pull away from them, to bring his eyes to what really commanded his attention; had always commanded his attention. He leaned forward, bending his body towards the casket as his fingers found the side and gripped the velvet red interior. Gatsby looked peaceful, with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes shut. He almost appeared as if he were sleeping, but Nick was a little different than the man before him in that he knew it better to focus on reality than on silly dreams.

Even in death, Gatsby was breathtakingly beautiful. His tanned skin, though it no longer glowed with the life it once had, was radiant, especially against the pure white of the suit. His hair was slicked back, as he’d often worn it during life, and upon closer inspection, Nick noticed a hair had slipped down onto his cheek, and, quickly and unsteadily, brushed it back into place alongside the others. He made to move his hand, but as he studied Gatsby’s face further, he found himself unable to. With shaky fingers, he gently caressed Gatsby’s cheek, following the curve of the bone down to his jaw, trembling all the while.

Nick wished that he could see Gatsby, alive and radiating with his life and his energy and his hopes and dreams, one last time. His eyes, closed and framed by dark lashes, were to never be seen again, and despairingly, Nick found that he was already beginning to forget the exact shade of blue they had always glowed. Had it been an aquamarine, or more of a robin’s egg blue? Or was it the shade that the pool water had been, before it had been dyed maroon with the color of Gatsby’s blood?

He wished, more than he had ever wished for anything in the world, except perhaps for the opportunity to replace Daisy in Gatsby’s heart, that he could see his smile one last time. His smile, so understanding and breathtaking, that whenever Nick found himself confronted with it he felt every ounce of resistance melting away, almost as if he could pour the contents of his heart out right then and there. Just before he had died, Nick had told Gatsby that he was worth more than the lot of them – Daisy, Tom, Jordan, and every other socialite who had happened to drift into his mansion those warm summer evenings. And he didn’t think he’d ever been so honest in his life. He was worth more than all of them combined – to the world, and especially, to Nick.

He wished he could hear his voice one last time. He would sit through any lengthy and torturous monologue of his love for Daisy, of his undying passion for Daisy and of how he did everything, everything in the world for Daisy and _only Daisy_ – if only to hear the affection in his voice as he addressed him one last time as _old sport_. Anything, just to see his radiant smile and hear his smooth voice again, which always managed to leave Nick breathless and thoughtless and he was always sure that there were moments when, in the wake of Gatsby’s smile, he forgot to breathe and blink and think and his heart forgot how to beat and he forgot his own _name_ and –

He stopped for a moment as he heard the creak of the casket under his fingertips. He hadn’t realized, but he’d been gripping it so tight that his knuckles had begun to turn white and his wrist began to ache. Slowly, he loosened his grip on the side of it with an audible sigh, and brought his eyes back down to the man lying peacefully surrounded by red velvet and white lilies and the ghosts of the people that had once flocked to him and his enigmatic life.

Despite all he’d been through in the past few days since his birthday, he hadn’t shed a single tear, not even felt the urge to cry over what had happened and what hadn’t. However, as he found himself again leaning down into the casket, locking his fingers into the red velvet and gently, almost as if he were afraid, pressed his lips to the cold, lifeless body of Jay Gatsby in both a first and last kiss – he wasn’t surprised to finally feel the sting of his own hot tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> nick was really gay for gatsby in the book, that is all


End file.
